Ghost
by illuminatachime
Summary: Post-Chosen, Pre-Season 8 AU. Buffy deals with the loss of Spike while trying to figure things out with her friends, who are now what she thinks of as her family. Little does Buffy know that Spike is trying to connect to her from the other side... Other characters include: Willow, Dawn, Faith, Giles, Xander, Andrew, Kennedy, Ethan Rayne.
1. Gone

Chapter 1

It started the night he waltzed into her life, like the rest of her relationships. Buffy was the type that fell headfirst into love, wrong as it may be, especially if the intrigue was mutual. But with him, it was different. He'd always been different…She'd known it from the first time they met. She'd known there was something more there, something more than Angel ever could have given her. She'd thought Angel to be the love of her life, but, well…she was just a sixteen-year-old girl then. _This,_ on the other hand, was _special._

Sighing, Buffy shook off the thoughts of her past lover, and felt the cool night's breeze whisper against her nape, fluffing her hair. She shivered, relishing in the way that it felt. Tonight, Buffy felt strong. She felt invincible, and this was enjoyable…She liked feeling unbeatable.

Buffy decided she'd call it a night; she'd staked all the vampires she could find. She didn't get off on it the way she used to, however, and she felt a twinge of fear at that fact. She'd probably never be the same, but who could be the same?

She hadn't been herself lately – okay, she hadn't been herself since her friends pulled her from paradise, but that wasn't the point. She felt so goddamn lonely, even more so than back then. She couldn't remember a recent date in which she hadn't succumbed to the miserable agony that lived in her dreams every night.

…Her dreams of Spike.

She relived everything, every moment they'd ever shared; whether it was rage, bloodlust, intimacy, annoyance, or even mirth. She relived it every night in her dreams. The night at the Bronze, when he'd stepped from the shadows in his overly cocky manner. The night he'd returned, searching for some damn gem that'd give him the ability to walk in sunlight. The time when Willow's spell had backfired and she and Spike had been "engaged." And then the worse memories were the ones of realizing he loved her, having him pursue her, creating that nasty 'bot, and fucking each other senseless. But the ones that turned her dreams into nightmares were the last days. When the First had used him, kidnapped him, tortured him. When he'd held her for three nights, and when he'd sacrificed himself.

Buffy had never been more proud of him than then, when he'd saved the world. The others – Giles, Willow, Xander, Dawn, and even Andrew – had always given him partial credit and said that _Buffy _had saved the world, but they were wrong. They hadn't seen the light radiating off of him, or the determination in his eyes that had so resembled his old cockiness.

That was when she'd realized she loved him. But then again, Buffy knew she'd loved him for a long time, but had been too scared to let herself believe it. She couldn't have it shoved in her face, not like Angelus had by killing her friends, and not like Riley had by ditching her.

Somewhere, though, deep down, she knew that Spike would have never betrayed her like that. He'd gone to get a soul for her after that terrifying night, to make him worthy of her. She'd been so damn blind before, but her thoughts rang loud and clear in her mind now: Spike did so much more for her without a soul, and she didn't give him the time of day. He'd loved her, protected her sister, killed for her, and been a comrade to her, and she'd attempted to chase him away. She kicked herself daily for not realizing that he was something special, especially compared to Angel, who tried to kill her when he didn't have a soul. Angelus was so far beyond human emotion, and she'd been so attached to the Angel-with-a-soul that she even became somewhat beyond human emotion then, too.

But really…how could she have done that to Spike? He was so much more than Angel ever was to her, he'd loved her without a soul and she hadn't given a damn.

A sudden but expected bout of remorse filled her gut then, and she tried not to gasp in pain. She'd somehow found her way to the house that she and the other Scoobies (plus Andrew and Kennedy) had rented, and since there were less bedrooms than people, she was boarding with Dawnie, who was currently asleep next to her – and she didn't wanna wake the poor, tired girl.

Oh, Dawn. A lifetime of guilt spawned from her little sister, too. After Buffy had died, he'd stayed around to keep Dawn safe, to protect her like he'd promised Buffy he would. He'd honored that promise, and for that she was so, so grateful. But when she'd come back, she'd only rejected Spike more. And then she'd used him for sex, to feel.

He'd let her, too, which was the sad part. He'd said he didn't care that she was using him, and although she knew that his words were true, she knew that she'd hurt him. He'd said he knew Buffy would never love him, but he was so wrong about that.

_I do love you,_ she thought dumbly. _I do._

Buffy curled up, facing away from Dawn, and looked out the window at the somewhat starry night. She wondered if Spike was where she'd been; in Heaven, or paradise, or whatever one would call it. He deserved it. She shivered for the second time that night, but not because she was cold. It was because she _felt _him, like she always did.

His ghost-lips brushed her forehead and then her hair, as his ghost-arms managed to slide around her, in his gentle yet protective manner that she'd always found so damn comforting. A tear slipped from her right eye, landing on the pillow underneath her head. She didn't bother to wipe the moisture from her face; moving might cause the feeling of Spike to vanish.

And oh, god, she never wanted him to leave. He haunted her, not in the ghostly-spooky manner, but in the way that a dead lover would. She felt as if she'd been widowed, and it had been by Spike's own choice that he'd died.

But Buffy could never be angry with him for that; he'd done it for the greater good. He'd saved the whole world that day.

Somehow, Buffy drifted into sleep, all the while in her ghost-lover's arms.

_It takes forever for you to fall asleep, you bloody daft woman,_ Spike thought. Or said. He didn't really know. All he knew was that he was alone but not lonely, where no one could hear him.

_Oh, pet, look at you, _Spike breathed, whispered, whatever. He was sure as hell he wasn't breathing, nor could he make a sound.

Pretty much all he could do was think, and watch his Slayer and her friends' lives on the sodding planet Earth, which, thanks to him, was still intact.

He was happy here, no doubt. He felt safe, complete. Even warm. But he missed his pint-sized piece of a Slayer, and he missed getting pissed up, and he even missed having a dick.

Spike was grateful, though, that he had the ability to visit Buffy in her dreams. All he was good for was recreating memories, and he felt like a fucking wanker for torturing her with them when all he wanted to do was comfort her.

He lived in her memory of him, could feel her when they touched in her dreams. He hadn't figured out how to just communicate with her, and it sickened him – if he were able to get sick – whenever the memories of him fighting her came into play.

"_So drowned in loneliness / So dreadfully cold / She mourns the loss of me / She begs me to come home / Her radiant light darkens / Her emerald eyes glaze over / Her want for me burns stronger / Me, her ghost lover," _Spike recited his latest poem in his head – well, he would've if he _had_ a head.

He'd given up writing poetry after that old wench Cecily had thrown his fancy for her in his face, but Spike had found it was a remarkable way to keep himself from being bored. He thought, smugly, that he'd gotten rather good at it.

The first memory Buffy dreamt up was the time they'd been "engaged." Spike loved this one, especially the way the girl remembered it. It was so different from the way he'd experienced it, and it thrilled him good and proper to get to relive the moments with her every night.

It was very real, the feeling of her nibbling on his ear. He felt his body smile, but he couldn't move it on his own, which was bloody useless, because it was so difficult to have the woman he loved sitting on his lap with her hand down his shirt, tracing circles all over his abdomen and not be able to do something about it.

He thanked his former, undead self each night for squeezing her ass whenever her Watcher and her pals turned away. Oh, not to mention the one time when Buffy's friends all went into the other room, Watcher and ex-demon included, that he got a good tongue down her cleavage, gently gliding his elongated fangs over her ripe breasts. Damn her gang of chumps for deciding that _that _was the time to call for her attention from the other room.

She'd reluctantly gotten off of his lap, and he'd reluctantly let her go. Spike groaned in what was very real arousal as he watched memory-Buffy trot into the other room through his own memory-eyes, hating that he hadn't gotten a good peck in then. His eyes, both present and past, watched her lithe little body move, and Spike was _very _grateful for what came next: a hard-on. _Damn_ his past self for deciding not to jerk off.

The memory faded into another, from an earlier time. He hated this one, but at least there was physical contact in it. There was in almost every memory.

It was outside his Slayer's house, when Angelus was the great big bad and Dru was on his arm, and they were plotting to destroy the whole sodding world.

He'd approached her after he'd finished with a copper, and the first thing she'd done was hit him. Spike had known better than to hit her back; he wanted her help. So he just grasped her shoulders and took the blows, waiting for her to let him speak. She backed up in alarm, and he began explaining to her.

The next memory was of when her friends pulled her from the sodding Earth, making her breathe and live again. He'd never been happier in his entire life than when he saw her breathing. She'd given him this blank look, but he knew she recognized him, and that was such a good feeling.

The memory after that was just after her mother had died, when they'd sat together on her back porch. Then the time he'd shagged her against the wall of that pissing awful fast food joint she'd worked at to keep food on the table for her little sis.

Every memory, every moment of reminiscence, every single dream she had made him love her more. Bollocks, he'd never stop loving her. Every fiber of his essence, of what he was now, was made up of loving Buffy. Like she was part of his soul.

Spike lived in the memory of her beating him to a pulp and yelling at him outside the police station when she'd thought she killed a woman. Then when they'd first met.

He heard her ask him what would happen the coming Saturday, and his response. He laughed to himself, thinking of how foolish he was back then. He knew that the moment he'd seen her dancing in the club, that he wanted to kiss her…but he was going to kill her.

Spike had been inexplicably drawn to her, and that imploring feeling had never ceased to exist. He could feel it now and he could feel the way it had been back then, when he was undead; it ached, it swelled, and the moments when Buffy had treated him nicely, it gave him a high.

The next memory was when he'd told her that he knew she'd never love him, but he was grateful that she treated him like a man instead of a monster. She'd looked at him with something he couldn't understand in her eyes, and invited him into her home. When that had happened, he knew that there'd never be anyone else for him.

Finally, after several more memories, they relived the time he found the Gem of Amarra and fought her under the sun. This was currently the second-to-last of all the memories they remembered together every time Buffy found the time to dream.

Every single goddamn memory, they went through it together. And this one would be painful for both of them. It was the day that they'd saved the world from the hands of the First; the day that she'd told him she loved him.

* * *

Dawn had woken up to Buffy tossing and turning in her sleep, getting tangled in the blankets that covered them both. She'd watched her older sister's pained, erratic expression as Buffy said "no" over and over again, and she'd kept watching for some time while Buffy's words changed again and again. 'Yes,' 'Stop,' 'Hold me,' and 'Come in' were dead giveaways that her sister was yet again dreaming of Spike.

Dawn knew Buffy would keep her up all night, but she didn't begrudge Buffy for that. The woman was in mourning. Dawn got up when Buffy said 'What happens on Saturday?' and headed to Willow's room, to find the witch awake as well.

Willow turned to Dawn with sad eyes, knowing why the girl had come to her. She opened the sheets of the bed on her left side; Kennedy was sound asleep on her right.

"It's him again, isn't it?" Willow said softly, a wise look on her face.

"Yeah," Dawn replied, sliding under the covers. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

"I wish she could let go," Dawn said a little bit later in a tired voice. "Not because she wakes me up, but because she's so _depressed _all the time."

"I know what you mean," Willow said, stroking Dawn's hair like she would a little sister or daughter. It was noticeably different from the way she was playing with Kennedy's hair – Kennedy was her girlfriend.

Dawn knew that Kennedy would never be Tara to Willow, but Kennedy would be Kennedy. She could see it written on Willow's face sometimes; Tara had been Tara, Oz had been Oz, and Kennedy was Kennedy. All were different for Willow, but none were meant to replace one another. Tara didn't replace Oz, and Kennedy didn't replace Tara. Dawn could tell that for Willow, no one would be able to replace Tara.

Willow rested her head against the headboard of her bed, listening to the sounds of the thrashing Buffy in the next room.

"Is there any way that you can bring him back?" Dawn asked suddenly, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"I'm sure there is," Willow said. "When we brought Buffy back, she came back just fine, but she had been living. Spike was dead for around one hundred and twenty years, and he was a vampire, so I think it'd complicate things a little."

"You're probably right."

Willow took a deep breath. "It's not that I haven't thought about bringing Spike back, or that I don't want to do it," she began, looking cautiously at Dawn. "It's because I don't think Buffy would want me to. You remember what she hid from us, right? After she came back?"

Dawn nodded, tears coming to her eyes. "She thought she'd been in Heaven," she answered.

"I know how much it hurt her when we brought her back. Everything here is violent, and cold. I think she believes that Spike went to Heaven, or wherever she was. He did sacrifice himself for all of us, and the entire world. I'd say that'd earn him a place there even with every naughty thing he'd done before he went to Sunnydale."

"When Buffy killed Angel, he went to a Hell dimension," Dawn said. "Do you think that Spike might've gone to a Hell dimension? I know the circumstances aren't the same, but…"

"I think that if he did, it wouldn't be much of a problem. He'd been to some before, if you can remember," Willow replied. "He could even speak some of the languages."

Dawn chuckled. "I remember. But there's no way of knowing where he went, is there?" The way she ended the question made it sound more like a statement.

"I don't know," Willow said thoughtfully. "Maybe it's just beyond my experience, but I've never heard of a way…See, when Tara died – no, when she was murdered, I tried to bring her back, you know. I called up the forces and whatnot, and they told me that I couldn't bring her back like I'd brought Buffy back. She'd died a human death of human causes, unlike Buffy's mystical, supernatural death."

Dawn recalled watching her older sister jump into the swirling portal, landing on the ground and dying. She remembered, with a gulp and more tears that threatened to fall, that Spike had been devastated. _That's an understatement, _she thought bitterly. Watching Spike fall to pieces like that, crying and shaking and screaming at Buffy's motionless body, begging her to wake up, had been awful. If it weren't for her own pain and everyone else's, she wouldn't have understood how a vampire could react in such a way to the _Slayer's _death, of all things. She still found it kind of unbelievable, but she knew that Spike really did love Buffy.

"When she jumped, it almost killed him," Willow said, guessing Dawn's thoughts. "It was kind of a wakeup call for the rest of us. We'd thought he'd just been lusting after her with his naughty demonic ways, and maybe he had, but when we saw him…crumble like that, it was easy to tell that he was in love with her."

"He stayed because of her, too," Dawn said. "He told me he'd made a promise to her, to protect me, and after she was gone, he extended it to you guys, too…even though you didn't really need it, what with your witchiness."

Willow laughed. "Yeah, I think the only one who really needed watching was you."

"I'm glad I don't any more, though," Dawn said dryly. "But there were times, when you guys would go out and he'd watch me, that he'd talk about her. He went a little loopy, you know. Didn't even bother to comb back his hair anymore. That was a major sign of loopiness."

"I figured he would've," Willow said. "He was crazy about her. And when she came back, we treated him poorly…_again._ Mostly me and Xander._"_

"It's not your fault," Dawn comforted the older woman. "You were trying to look out for Buffy. She needed it then. Besides, you guys knew Spike was a monster. Or at least, he had been. I wonder if he would've still gotten a giant raging crush on her if he hadn't gotten that chip…But that's beside the point. They slept together…the First said it was because she wanted to feel."

"I don't think that was just it," Willow said. "I know that she thought she was using him, though. She told me a lot after we all…found out. Maybe she was using him, maybe she thought he was a soulless asshole, but she had feelings for him."

Of course, the unspoken truth was that both Dawn and Willow knew that Buffy had feelings for Spike back then. They knew that she was afraid of getting hurt again. She hadn't had good experiences with boys. Angel had turned into Angelus, killed her friends and tormented her, and when he'd gotten his soul back, he'd left her, saying it was for her own good. It probably was, but Buffy had still been hurt. After all they'd been through, after she accepted him again, he left. Then there was Parker the sleazy party boy, who pretty much used Buffy to get off one night. There was Riley, whom Buffy had loved and shared around two years with. He'd left her – ditched her, really – because he'd thought that she wasn't putting every ounce of her being into their relationship.

Then there came Spike. He'd been chasing her even when she was dating Riley, but it didn't matter to him. And Buffy began to have feelings for him, even though their relationship, to her, was based on sex. It had scared her, because she was afraid of getting hurt again. She didn't want to lose anyone else.

"What's it like?" Dawn asked. "To lose a…significant other."

"That's a tough question. I'm sure you know what it was like for me. I mean, I went all evil, and villainous, and dark. I-I guess in general, everybody experiences the grief differently. But for me, it was…It felt like I'd gotten my soul ripped out of me. The one thing I knew best in the world was stolen and I couldn't save her, couldn't get her back. We'd just made up…And then she was just gone. She was dead and so was my heart. I know this sounds cheesy, but it's the truth."

Willow paused, trying to find words to say. Taking a deep breath, she continued. "I…turned to magic…it was like a drug for me. I knew she wouldn't have wanted me to, but I sought revenge. I skinned Warren alive, and it didn't even ease my pain. I was so…distraught, and overcome with shock that I didn't think, even for a moment, that she was really gone. I couldn't make myself believe it. And it changed me more than discovering magic did, or meeting Buffy did. It changed me more than Oz did, more than being gay did. I don't think I'll ever be the same. And I have a feeling Buffy won't be, either. Especially after everything that's happened since she and I first met…she wouldn't allow herself to go back to the way she was anyway."

"Wow," Dawn said sorrowfully. "I'm…sorry. I loved Tara, not in the same way you did, but she was like you are to me. As for Buffy…she couldn't return to how she was. To her, that'd mean forgetting, and she doesn't want to forget."

"I think that's why she's so sad. She doesn't want to forget, but she's trying to."

* * *

Buffy turned over in her sleep for about the hundredth time that night, getting herself more and more entangled in the bed sheets.

"Spike," she whispered as the last memory flooded into her dream.

She was battling the First on the Hellmouth, and saw Spike standing with the Amulet. It had a bright light shining out of it, and she knew that it was time. She ran to him, telling herself not to beg him to take it off. It was probably too late for that anyway.

Buffy grasped Spike's hand as they talked for the last time. Their clasped hands went up in flames, but it didn't hurt. It felt right; it felt warm.

She felt tears spring to her eyes as she looked into his, seeing a touch of sadness in his astonishingly blue irises.

"I love you," she said. She squeezed his flaming hand with hers, and saw in his eyes that he didn't believe her.

"No you don't," he replied.

He'd said more after that, but his denial of her feelings for him was ringing in her ears. It got louder and louder, until it felt like her head was about to explode. It became a chant, and then it changed to flat-out screaming the words.

_No you don't, no you don't, no you don't._

She heard it for what felt like hours, yet at the same time, barely a minute. It was something that the First would've done, she thought sadly. Turned a simple, unbelieving rebuttal into an accusation.

It was when she felt his arms cross around her middle, in a hug from behind, that the screaming stopped. There was no doubt about it – those were his tight, corded arms. She could almost feel his leather duster on her skin.

Buffy laughed mirthlessly to herself as she thought of how instantly comforting just a simple touch from him was. She leaned into him, delighted to feel his chest against her shoulder blades.

She felt him lean down, breathing lightly, and sighed. Buffy was content now, and she was happy. She knew this would end soon, but she allowed herself to be happy, even if for a fleeting moment.

Spike's breaths were soft and silent, tickling her ear just slightly. He leaned down just a bit further, as if to plant a kiss on her neck. She rubbed her head against his shoulder, loving how good it felt to be in his arms. Then, he turned his head so his mouth was at her ear, caressed her cheek with his left hand, and spoke to her in a voice that was shockingly harsh, but a whisper all at once.

"_No you don't."_

Buffy woke with a startled, choked gasp, then cried out for him. "Spike?" she panted, frantically looking around. But she already knew the answer to her unasked questions: he wasn't there.

The dream-Spike's words seemed to echo throughout the room, and Buffy brought her knees up to her chest, hooked her arms around them in a sitting-up fetal position, not even noticing that Dawn was gone, and burst into tears.

She sobbed as quietly as she could for the rest of the night.

* * *

Dawn's eyes shifted to Kennedy, whose slumber it seemed would only be interrupted if there was a major earthquake. She was glad hers and Willow's voices didn't awaken the older girl.

"I don't think Buffy could forget even if she wanted to," Dawn said.

"That's probably true. I know I'll never forget Tara, even if…" Willow leaned down and kissed Kennedy's forehead softly.

"I understand. But do you think Buffy will ever…you know, move on?"

"I'm sure she will eventually. It takes time. Different amounts of time for each and every relationship."

"I just want her suffering to be over."

"We all do, Dawnie," Willow said, tears coming to her eyes. "She's lifeless. It's scary. She…goes through the motions, like she did after we pulled her out of H-Heaven."

"I think she's glad you did." Dawn comforted her softly. "Maybe she wasn't immediately after you did it, but she started to enjoy life again. She got a job as a counselor at my school, worked her way back into her life and made the best of it. It's Buffy, it's basically what she's programmed to do."

"She always makes the best of everything," Willow said shakily, not allowing herself to cry. "But she's a Slayer. She's destined to suffer."

"She's got us to fall back on. That's something the Slayers before her didn't have."

"Buffy won't fall back on us on purpose, though. She's unbelievably strong…mentally, physically and emotionally. She knows it's okay to show that she's hurt, but she thinks it makes her look weak. I just think that after all this time, she's afraid of being vulnerable."

"I know," Dawn said, wiping at a tear that had managed to escape. Willow looked at the younger girl and reached for her hand, grasping it firmly. They exchanged sad smiles.

Just then, they heard a voice call out in desperation.

"Spike?" – Buffy, in the next room. There was a beat of silence, and then Buffy began crying. Willow and Dawn shared a look.

"Should we…?" Dawn asked.

"No…if she wants comfort, she'll come to us," Willow said after a minute. "It's 2:AM; if we go in there, she'll feel guilty and think she woke us up. But we can talk to her in the morning."

"Okay."

And for the remainder of the night, they listened to Buffy cry.


	2. There At Night

Chapter 2

The next morning, things were as they usually were around the house. Anyone who hadn't been killed in the battle against the First was somewhere in California, or had run as far away as possible. The Scoobies – Buffy, Willow, Xander, Giles, Faith, Dawn, and Andrew – had stayed together, letting the others go because the evil was gone. Not that there wouldn't be more, but the girls needed some kind of release. Kennedy was the only one that stayed, but it was mostly for Willow.

There were eight of them in one household; thankfully it had six bedrooms, which fit them all. This made things like cleaning and running errands easy, alongside the patrolling and whatnot. Buffy and Faith would patrol, switching off or going together, Willow, Kennedy, and Dawn (and, on occasion, Andrew) would go grocery shopping, Andrew would cook the meals, Xander would fix the leaky faucets and creaky boards, and Giles would research whatever came to the city. They all took upon washing the dishes, doing the laundry, vacuuming, washing windows, and every other household chore that needed to be done.

Showers, unlike the bedrooms, weren't so plentiful. There were only two, one on the second floor and one in the basement. No one really liked to use the basement shower, because whenever someone would run water on one of the upper levels, the water coming out of the showerhead would be ice cold.

Buffy, unlike the rest of her housemates, liked to shower in the basement. She said it was because she liked bathing in cold water after a fight; fighting made her warm.

However, Willow, Xander, Giles, Faith, and Dawn all seemed to think that she liked to shower in the basement because it reminded her of Spike in her own basement, back in Sunnydale.

They didn't question it any further, of course, for fear that if they were right, they might break Buffy's fragile composure.

Buffy was in the shower right then, and the rest of the crew was up and about in the kitchen, which was painted dusty blue with grey countertops and cherry-colored wooden cabinets.

Kennedy was pouring milk into both hers and Willow's cereal bowls, while Giles was making cream of wheat. Xander and Andrew were fighting over a granola bar, Dawn was sitting at the table eating a bagel, and Faith was scarfing down pancake after pancake.

"Xander, I called dibs! You can't do that! Giles, tell him he can't do that!" Andrew whined, swiping at the granola bar that Xander was triumphantly holding out of his reach.

"Good heavens, Andrew, just eat some cereal," Giles said, irritated.

"But I want…" Andrew trailed off as Xander opened the granola bar and shoved over half the thing into his mouth, chewing loudly and not bothering to close his mouth while doing so.

"You want some of this?" Xander asked mockingly, making sure Andrew noticed the chewed-up granola on his tongue.

"Oh, _gross, _Xander," Andrew squealed and ran for the breakfast cupboard. Faith paused between pancakes to laugh at Andrew, who pouted.

"No one's _ever _nice to me," he wailed, grabbing a bowl for his Raisin Bran. "Now I have to eat yucky raisins."

"Bloody hell, Andrew, the granola bar you were so desperate to eat had raisins in it," Giles said, glaring at the younger boy. He took an annoyed sip of his breakfast tea.

Andrew looked in horror to Xander, who held up the granola bar's wrapper, which had 'raisins' in bold print across it.

"Ew!" Andrew cried, pouring his milk too fast and sloshing himself.

"Hey, be careful with that," Xander said, confiscating the carton of milk. "We actually have to pay for our food again."

Since Sunnydale had been deserted, they hadn't thought anything of taking what was left of the stores' supplies, and their food. But now they were in a normal environment, meaning the city, that is, and therefore they had to play by the rules.

Dawn and Kennedy worked at local fast food joints, while Xander resumed being a construction worker, and Giles a librarian. Willow found a place just like the Magic Box, where she worked, and the five of them together brought in good money. No one thought twice about donating their earnings to help the others out; after all, they were a family.

Faith, Buffy, and Andrew didn't have jobs. It was because Faith and Buffy had to have time to sleep and recuperate between patrolling and their daily lives of investigating, cleaning house, and whatnot. Andrew just refused to work, saying he preferred playing housewife. No one argued with that.

"Yeah, well, I…I have to clean it anyway," Andrew retorted.

Xander simply stared at him.

Andrew looked blank for a minute, then said dejectedly: "I'll get on it." He picked up a paper towel and a dishcloth and wiped up the slopped milk, mumbling to himself about how no one appreciated him.

Faith looked up from her mass of pancakes. "Hey, where's B? Isn't she done yet?"

"I'm sure she'll be done soon," Willow replied, doing her best to ignore Andrew's bitter muttering.

As if on cue, or by Willow's witchy magic, they heard the water click off below them.

A few minutes later, Buffy opened the door to the basement and stepped out, her hair hanging in wet ringlets.

"Do I smell pancakes?" She asked, adjusting her hoodie.

"Yep, Buff, they're right over…there…" Willow said, pointing to Faith's heaping plate.

Faith laughed and pushed some off, onto another plate, and placed it beside her. "I may be a Slayer, but I can't eat _that_ much."

Buffy smiled and hopped over to where she was, taking a seat in between her little sister by blood and her little sister by calling.

"Am I going to start having an appetite like hers?" Kennedy stage-whispered to Giles and Willow.

The two geniuses chuckled. "I don't know," Giles replied truthfully. "It's different for all Slayers. See, there, Buffy doesn't eat as much as Faith, but they're both energetic and quite healthy. I guess your metabolism will tell you what to do."

"Are you kiddin' me, G? Buff here is a twig," Faith snorted, gesturing to their athletic bodies. Then she spoke to Buffy. "You petite people…you're so damn _petite_. How the hell did a little thing like you get the name 'Buffy?' I mean, when I first heard your name I thought you were gonna be, well, you know, _buff._"

Buffy giggled a little and forked a pancake, dousing it thoroughly in syrup. "Maybe I don't need to be muscular to win a fight."

Faith dropped her fork. "Oh hell no," she smirked. "I doubt you would win against me, without the all-powerful Slayer strength. You couldn't pack this kinda muscle if you were _my_ height, anyway."

Buffy smirked. "Hey, Will, do you know any growing spells?"

Willow coughed. "Yes, but you're not getting anything outta me."

"Darn," Buffy replied sarcastically.

Faith smiled in mock sweetness. "Darn," she repeated, wolfing down another pancake.

* * *

That evening on the news, a report of a mysterious homicide was broadcasted. Giles, who was the only one watching, called in the gang.

Buffy and Faith arrived before anyone else; they'd been in the spacious backyard, right outside the living room, doing some friendly sparring and working on their balance. Willow and Kennedy came from upstairs, while Xander and Andrew came from underneath the leaky sink in the kitchen, which was across the hall. Everyone ignored Andrew's whines about having to hold the wrenches and get squirted in the face.

Giles turned the volume up on the television, and all ears listened intently.

"_Sources say the body was discovered around 6:02 in an alleyway this morning. According to our sources, the body was brutally mutilated, with what looked like multiple blows to the head and the torso. Police have yet to identify the body, but we do know it is male. If you have any information on this homicide, please call our crime hotline. Now, back to Jason McCarthy for our nightly weather report…"_

"Well, G, what do ya think?" Faith asked. "Doesn't look like a vamp, unless he had a major vendetta."

"It could be a witch," Willow said quietly. "But I surely would've felt…"

"It's not a vampire," Kennedy cut in. "Why would a vampire give someone multiple blows to the head and body?"

"Hello? Earth to Kennedy? I said, he could've had a major vendetta," Faith retorted.

"Maybe it was a Slayer," Andrew said, rubbing his hands together. "A vampire would have to really beat up a Slayer to kill her."

"Andrew, they said it was a man. Slayers can only be women," Dawn said, staring at the TV screen.

"Maybe it was a demon?" Kennedy asked. "I can see a demon doing that." She looked to Willow, who nodded her agreement.

"I believe a demon's our safest bet," Giles finally said, sighing and taking off his glasses. He cleaned them on his shirt. "We'll have to do some research. Gather information. Does anybody know…well, if there are any bars that demons and vampires regulate?"

"You mean like Willy the Snitch's place?" Xander chimed in. "Where'd he run off to, anyway?"

"Who's Willy the Snitch?" Andrew asked.

"That's not the point. We need some info," Faith said.

"I guess that means we'll get to it, then," said Buffy, joining the conversation. "Shall we split up, or…?"

"There will be no up of the splitting!" Andrew burst out. Everyone turned and glared at him.

"Andrew, for Heaven's sake, go wash the dishes," Giles said tiredly.

"But the sink isn't done being leaky!" Andrew then, quite seriously, stamped his foot.

"Then let's go fix it." Xander left the room, pushing Andrew in front of him.

Kennedy volunteered to go out to the bars with the rest of them, but Willow cut her off. "No, don't go. I have things you need to do here…"

Dawn crossed the room to the bookcase, pulling out every book she could find that had demons in it. "I guess Giles and I can hit the books," she said, absently flipping pages.

"Yes, Dawn and I will read up on whatever demon it could be," Giles agreed. He went to stand by the seventeen-year-old.

"I guess Faith and I will go…look for clues." Buffy walked to the foyer, opening the closet there and taking out her black leather jacket.

Faith followed suit, throwing on a jean jacket, and grabbed the spare stakes that were hidden on a shelf above the coat rack.

She tossed one to Buffy. Catching it, the older Slayer smiled dutifully and called, "Willow! Are there any spells that can tell us what it is?"

"I'm on it," Willow replied, then returned to her argument with Kennedy.

"You're not going this time!" she hissed.

"Why not?" Kennedy hissed back.

"Because we need you here!" Willow snapped.

"Why?" Kennedy snapped back.

"Kennedy," Giles cut in. "Could you give Xander and Andrew a hand?"

The young girl looked at him, huffed, and stomped into the kitchen.

"Thanks, Giles," Willow said, throwing a dimpled smile at him. He nodded seriously, but a small smile came to his lips.

* * *

Outside, Faith and Buffy were walking away from the house, setting up a game plan.

"Okay, we can check the cemeteries first," Buffy said. "The easiest demons are there."

"Unless they're drunk demons," Faith joked. "Let's head straight to the bars if we can't find anything."

Buffy nodded her agreement, and both girls were shocked at how easily they were getting along. It hadn't been just then; it'd been ever since Faith had returned to Sunnydale before their battle with the First. Despite the hollow tension left between them and the bickering they engaged in back then, Buffy had trusted Faith with the potentials, and that was enough to set things right with them.

They understood each other, not just as women, but as Slayers – in a way the new Slayers would never be able to.

Faith had always felt second-best to Buffy. Buffy had always been angry with Faith for trying to take what was Buffy's. Faith had thought that Buffy had everything handed to her, and tried to get it for herself. She'd been insanely jealous of perfect, pretty Buffy, who had a loving mother and Watcher, and friends who supported her. Hell, she even had vamps on her side…

But it was over now. Faith had realized that Buffy had sacrificed more, and had had more taken from her than Faith ever had, and although she was sometimes still bitter about their past, they were friends. Buffy was like a sister to her, and vice versa.

When they got to the cemetery, Buffy got antsy. She didn't know why; she never got antsy. She felt…uncomfortable, too aware. And 'too aware' was even more than how aware of everything she was as a Slayer.

"Faith…?" she began, turning to her comrade awkwardly. Faith was stiff, standing straight as a board with her head tilted upward, like she was trying to pick up a scent. But Buffy knew better than to think that, because Faith was doing what Buffy herself was doing: listening.

Weird vibes, for a Slayer, were warning signs. They screamed _danger, get ready to fight, _in the girls' heads and shot adrenaline into their veins long before the evil even came.

The two Slayers stood silent, still, paying close attention to the ominous wind, the rustling of the leaves…They stayed like that for about five minutes.

Finally, Faith shook it off, visibly, and said, "Well, I don't know what this is, but it's weird. I sense a bad guy…" she trailed off and looked in a mausoleum. Shaking her head, she turned back to Buffy.

"What the hell?" Faith threw her hands up in the air. "I gotta say, B, I've never experienced anything like this. It's giving me the creeps."

"I know what you mean," Buffy said, shifting from foot to foot. "But I guess if nothing's here, we can go."

The girls all-too-hurriedly exited the cemetery gates, and the uncomfortable sense was gone instantaneously. They shared a look, glanced reproachfully to the cemetery, and started for the demon bars.

* * *

Spike cursed himself. He'd tried so hard to break through to Buffy and Faith in that cemetery, he was actually feeling pain.

For some reason, he guessed it was because he was dead, he could reach out to things in cemeteries, morgues, those sort of places. He'd discovered it when he saw a squirrel munching on an acorn, and missed the feeling of sinking his fangs into flesh. He'd envisioned it, and suddenly the squirrel puffed up, squeaked, and ran up a tree like there was no bloody tomorrow.

Spike wished he could hit something, but he didn't have any limbs to do so. He fucking hated that he was just some essence; he wanted to thrash and kill something.

Most of all, he wanted to feel Buffy in his arms. Not in some memory, but as if he was alive again.

He wondered vaguely whether or not Buffy had experienced anything like this while she was dead. She must've felt extremely frustrated…

But no, she'd said she was happy. That she knew everyone would be okay. Was that true? Did she really feel that way? Spike had no idea; he certainly wasn't happy.

Then again, she wasn't in love with him like he was in love with her. She'd said she loved him, the day he died. He remembered how her voice sounded, clear as a bell. And every night, he felt her hand in his, heard her say it again.

Buffy's hands…they were always so small, so fragile-looking, but incredibly strong. That was one thing Spike had loved about her. She was tiny, scrawny, and sometimes rather girlish, but she was strong. Not just physically, but mentally…emotionally. She was the strongest person he'd ever known, and Spike was proud to have shared time with her.

Right then, Buffy and Faith, the other Slayer, were walking down a city street, talking about things he couldn't make out. Little snippets of their conversation rose up, but nothing sounded significant. Girl talk, Spike decided, and concentrated on following them.

He still felt protective over Buffy, even though he wouldn't be able to stop anything that might happen to her, because he was incorporeal. He tried kicking something out of habit, but his lack of limbs prevented it. Spike felt funny, in the way that he still could feel his body, even if he didn't have one.

"Oh, bollocks," he moaned – thought? – as the two Slayers waltzed into a bar, clearly seeking demons. He sighed, wondering why they thought it was a good idea to leave their stakes in sight, especially if they wanted some information.

"Alright, B, which one first?" said Faith loudly, but casually. The bar quieted, as if on cue, and all eyes turned towards the two girls.

"I dunno," Buffy replied, eyeing a tall demon in the back.

Faith followed her gaze. "What do you say we go for something big and ugly?"

"Sounds like a zit," Buffy scoffed.

"Looks like one, too." Faith smiled at Buffy, and they strode towards the demon.

Spike watched in wonder, eager to see how things played out. He glanced around the room for weapons other than two simple stakes – although he was smart enough to know that that's not all the weapons a Slayer would have on her – and saw that Buffy was doing the same. Her eyes locked onto the bar stools, seeing how some were made from metal and others wood.

She turned slightly, still facing the demon, but so that her peripheral vision could pick up the movement if another demon in the bar were to decide to hit her or Faith with one.

_Smart, pet, _Spike thought.

Faith interrogated the demon, and after six or seven questions, it was obvious he knew nothing. So she turned, drawing the attention of the rest of the demons, and shouted, "Okay, this is how it's gonna be. You guys tell us what you know about the body found this morning, or we kill you!"

Spike laughed to himself, knowing that the Slayers would kill the demons anyway.

"What makes y'think we're scared of ye?" asked a small, yellow nasty with horns.

"Ever heard of a Slayer?" Buffy replied.

"Shit," muttered the demon. "Who's _she?"_ He pointed at Faith.

"She's the other Slayer," another demon supplied. "It's been that way for almost eight years, Shulak."

Faith looked insulted. "You've never heard of me? Damn, B, livin' in your shadow's rough."

Suddenly, Shulak and the other demon charged the girls. All too prepared, Buffy and Faith threw them around like they weighed nothing, slaying them before they even got the chance to react.

Spike found his essence – although felt like his body – reacting to Buffy, watching her little body move in such a manner.

"Now," Buffy said shortly. "Who knows something?"

A vampire stepped up, speaking with a strange rasp, like he had been smoking and drinking for too many years. "I know a couple things," he began, pausing to look Buffy from head to toe, making appreciative sounds.

Spike got insanely jealous, wishing he were there to rip the other vamp's eyeballs out of their sockets. _Nobody_ looked at Buffy like that, not if he could help it.

Buffy looked disgusted, as did Faith.

"Look, Sleazeball, cough it up," Faith snapped, putting a cocky hand on her hip.

"He's human," the vampire said. "But not just any kind of human, sweetie," he added on when Buffy looked doubtful. "He's, I guess, some sort of sorcerer."

"What's his name?" Buffy asked, an odd look on her face. Spike was thinking what she was thinking…the man who turned Giles into a Fyarl demon, maybe? Faith looked properly clueless, but Spike wasn't sure whether or not she'd ever met the bloke.

"Ethan Rayne," said the vampire, and Buffy groaned.

"He never quits, does he," she muttered. "Such a freaking pest."

"Whoa, B, hold up, who's Ethan Rayne?" Faith asked as if they were the only two in the room.

"Pesky magician who likes to mess with me and Giles," Buffy replied wearily. "He and Giles used to be pals."

"Ah." Faith nodded. The vampire looked awkward; he hadn't expected them to know Ethan.

"Thanks, then," Buffy said.

The Slayers jumped the vampire simultaneously, giving him swift kicks to the face and to the groin.

"I _helped _you!" he got out before he was dusted.

"Who's next?" Faith asked silkily. Not waiting for an answer, they attacked and slayed the rest of the crowd. Thank goodness no humans were there.

* * *

When Buffy and Faith got home, the gang was once again assembled in the living room, minus Andrew, who, from the sounds of it, was locked in the basement.

"Let me out!" he whined, hoping the newly-arrived Slayers would take pity on him.

Buffy rolled her eyes, strolling into the living room and taking position in front of the group.

Addressing Giles, she asked, "What's annoying, likes to wear red dress shirts, is constantly around being pesky, and is always causing unnecessary trouble just for shits and giggles?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Spike?" Xander asked. Willow elbowed him in the gut, hard, and muttered something.

Buffy shot him a look, but was too pissed off at the news of Ethan to say anything. She turned back to Giles, who was cleaning his glasses thoughtfully.

"Oh dear," the man said after a while. "Ethan Rayne?"

"Ding, ding, ding," Buffy said unenthusiastically. "Guess we don't need to research anything. Just need to find his hideout."

"Which is most likely a motel," Giles added.

There was a sudden banging noise, and everyone turned to the basement door as smaller bangs echoed, ending with a muffled "ouch."

"Did you really just try to break the door down?" Dawn called, annoyance playing on her face.

There was no response. Instead of checking on him, the gang turned back to the conversation.

"Willow, Google this place's motels. Find something cheap and tacky." Buffy handed Willow a small laptop from atop the television. The redhead nodded dutifully and went to work.

"What's the plan?" Faith spoke up. "I mean, B, I have a feeling you'll wanna take care of this yourself, because you're the one that's experienced with this fucker."

"Giles and me, mostly. Although I'm sure Willow and Xander would remember him as well," Buffy said.

"I don't remember him," Dawn murmured. "Why don't I remember him?"

Shocked, Xander said, "I don't remember you being there when he was."

"Me neither," Willow chimed in.

"What the…?" Buffy asked. She glanced at Giles, who was once again cleaning his glasses.

"I've no memory of her being there, either," he said thoughtfully. "I wonder…"

"You wonder what?" Dawn snapped. "Maybe the priestlies who created me made a mistake. Maybe this is some glitch in my memory, because I'm not even human."

"You're human," Xander said, placing a comforting hand on her back. "Of course you're human."

Dawn looked at him bitterly, tears coming to her eyes.

_Poor Dawnie, _Buffy thought. She'd tried imagining what it felt like to realize that your entire life was literally a lie, that you weren't even real. She couldn't believe what Dawn was going through, and Dawnie had only really been alive for three years.

"Dawnie," Buffy started. But Dawn just shook her head, said "I'm fine," and lifted her chin.

"Is he a vampire?" she asked bluntly, looking suddenly uncomfortable at everyone's stares.

"No," Giles said, returning his glasses to his face.

"How do we kill him?" Kennedy wanted to know.

"That's the problem," Buffy said. She looked as if a nasty taste had surfaced on her palate.

Kennedy raised an eyebrow. "What's the problem?"

"Well, I suppose it'd be easy to kill him, I mean, he _is _human." Giles looked pained and tired. He rubbed his forehead and continued. "It's just that he has the tendency to create a diversion, laugh at us trying to get rid of it, then bolt at the last minute."

"The only time he _couldn't _bolt was when Riley got him arrested," Willow said, her eyes glued to the computer screen. Her fingers flitted over the keyboard, and she clicked.

"Who's Riley?" Kennedy asked. "Is she a Slayer? I mean, _was _she a Slayer?"

"Okay, no, Riley was not a Slayer, because Riley, in fact, was _male._" Buffy's face was red.

"Oh, _I_ remember Riley," Faith mused, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "Let me tell you a story about him and I, Kennedy."

Kennedy looked interested, but Dawn cut Faith off. "Riley was Buffy's boyfriend a couple years ago," she began, scowling at Faith. "Buffy and Faith pulled a body switcheroo, and while she was in Buffy's body, Faith decided to _seduce_ Riley."

"Oh," Kennedy said. "She slept with Buffy's boyfriend?"

"Yep," Faith said, looking pleased.

"That's hot," Kennedy said. Willow, Buffy, and Dawn all glared at her, opening their mouths to chastise, insult, or do whatever they were planning to do when Giles spoke up.

"Let's not get carried away, _children,_" he said, raising a hand. "The point is, he's a pest and he's back again, and I'd rather not kill him for old times' sake, but if he's going to keep causing trouble, we must do what we must."

"I can't kill a human!" Buffy protested. "That's all sorts of bad."

"Well, take into account that he almost killed you once," Giles replied. He watched Buffy's face as she relived the memory of getting the cult symbol that Ethan had tattooed onto the back of her neck removed. She frowned.

"Let's kill him," she decided.

Giles grinned.

* * *

Ethan Rayne.

The way Spike remembered it, the chap had turned the Slayer's sniffy Watcher into a demon. Spike saved the day by helping the man, driving him around town to find Buffy and her pals.

And he hadn't even gotten the girl in the end. She'd stayed with Captain Cardboard. …Spike was suddenly grouchy. Sodding 'Agent Finn,' he'd been so…_boring. _He was such a ninny, that one.

_I suppose I could do something interesting, _Spike thought. He decided he'd go searching for Rayne.

Spike concentrated really hard on finding him, focusing all of his essence on the man. Soon enough, he was figuratively on the outside looking in. Rayne stood in the middle of a hotel room that looked as if it was quite stuffy and full of mildew. It was colored in a tacky berry hue, and it made Spike want to gag. There was a fireplace going a few feet to Rayne's left, but with a closer look, Spike saw that it was artificial…no wonder the smell of burning embers wasn't overpowering the mildew.

Spike wrinkled his presently-nonexistent nose, even though he couldn't smell anything. For that matter, he couldn't taste anything either; it was hell. He missed the taste of blood, and even some human foods. Pretty much all he could do was watch and listen.

And he was doing just that; watching and listening to the sorcerer who fancied himself a villain.

"Won't be too long, now," Rayne was muttering, literally rubbing his hands together like a rat. He chuckled darkly, gazing into the fake fireplace's digital fire, and flipped a switch to shut it off. His harsh, humored eyes glinted, as if he were reminiscing.

He just stood there, staring at the dead fireplace.

_I wonder…_, Spike thought to himself. He reached out with his essence, stretching it, trying to get inside the bloke's head. He figured he'd try, at least, seeing as how he always managed to get sucked into Buffy's dreams.

He felt himself being pulled forward, falling, and suddenly there was a loud _clap,_ as if a thunderstorm had rolled in.

Spike spiraled as Ethan stiffened, sensing something was amiss.

"What the—," he began, before clutching his head and yelling in agony.

Spike yelled too, trying to grab onto anything that would keep him _away _from Rayne. He didn't succeed; instead the men were surrounded by the sound of swarming bees. Spike felt himself get vacuumed into Rayne's body, and getting ripped to shreds in the process.

Contrariwise, Ethan felt himself drawing something in. He felt too _full_, like there was another soul in his body, and it was—

_Another soul. _

"Who the hell…?" He groaned. "I didn't order a plate of possession from room service!"

He let out a gasp of pain, hoping he wouldn't go into cardiac arrest.

"Ethan Rayne," his mouth said. "Ethan bloody Rayne, is that right?"

"What the hell…?" Ethan gasped again, clawing at his face. "Get _out_!"

"I'm _trying_!" London accent, Ethan thought.

"Who the hell…?" He asked again.

"Spike, dammit," he replied.

"What the bloody…?" Ethan fell over, wheezing and twitching.

"That's what I wanna know," said Spike as he gained control of Ethan's body. "_Ow," _they said in unison.

"Spike? I've never heard of you!" Ethan got out between strangled gasps. "What kind of demon…"

"I was _dead, _you moron. I don't know how the sodding hell I got sucked into you, I was jus' tryin' to see what you were thinking!"

"Why would you want to do _that_?"

"Because you killed a man!"

"And? What are you, some spiritual vigilante?"

Ethan's body didn't permit them to talk any more for a bit.

"I'm not a _spiritual vigilante_," Spike replied shakily. "I'm just a fella."

"I don't know any _fellas_ who can possess a human body, unless they're some highly educated demon."

"Well, I guess I did fancy myself a highly educated demon, back in the day," Spike muttered.

"So you _are_ a demon," Ethan concluded.

"I was a vampire," Spike said, standing their body up.

"Really? How'd you die? Sunlight? The Slayer?" Ethan laughed.

"Slayer…well, she had _somethin'_ to do with it, anyway," Spike said. "Pint-size girl comes up, you wanna kill her, then you get _neutered, _can't kill humans anymore, and suddenly she's your _entire _world."

"You, a vampire, were in love with a Slayer? That's rather sappy," Ethan guffawed.

"I was thinking it was rather poetic," Spike shot back. "And I'm _still _in love with the Slayer, so you'd better shut your trap before I decide to walk you off a building."

Ethan shut up; Spike was obviously the one in control. Ethan verified this by attempting to walk backwards, but Spike stayed still, barely noticing that his partner in the body was trying to move.

"Now, you've been causin' trouble for her, and I'm here to figure out _why_." Spike but Ethan's hands on Ethan's hips, tapping a foot impatiently.

"What, you've never just wanted to have a bit of a laugh?" Ethan retorted, once again trying to move his body, to no avail.

"Oh, of course I have," Spike said absently. "But after a couple rounds, I learned my lesson about messing with the Slayer and her pals."

"Oh, really? Maybe you're just…easier to _beat_ than I am."

"Not likely." Spike found it strange how Ethan's body could capture his tone so nicely. While the other man had a more choppy accent, his was a bit of a drawl, like he'd spent too much time in the slums of London. Which he had.

He waltzed over to the door, listening for signs of life. Hearing none, he turned back around and made for Ethan's luggage.

"Hey now," Ethan began. "What do you think you're doing?"

Spike unzipped a duffel bag. "You've gotta have a ciggy somewhere, eh?"

"I don't smoke," Ethan said, exasperated.

"And I don't either…not for a while, anyway."

"What, bein' a bloody ghost make it hard to smoke?"

"Yeah, actually."

Spike dropped the duffel, sitting next to it on the lumpy hotel bed. He was exhausted, and he wasn't sure whether it was just Ethan's body or the aftereffect of possessing it. He decided he didn't care, and laid down across the mattress.

"Thank god I never got this old," he murmured, and fell fast asleep.

* * *

Buffy groaned inwardly as she watched Dawn stomp around the house. They were all increasingly annoyed with Andrew's whininess, and were desperate to get him out of the house. Of course, the only way he'd do that was to "go shopping, for kitchen appliances, with Xander and Dawn, and maybe we can find a cool local comic store?"

Xander had flat out said no, and Giles and Buffy were trying to convince them to take Andrew out.

"Just for a little while," Buffy pleaded. "We need to let the…_big people_ work this out. We can't do that with him squealing all over the place."

"Why's he even here?" Giles said, wiping his glasses on the hem of his sweater vest.

"Good question," Dawn replied. "Look, Buffy, I don't want to take him out. I mean, I understand that you guys need to do your save-the-day routine, but I don't think I can take another minute of his…_obnoxiousness."_

"I second that," Xander chimed in from the kitchen, and they heard a _kerplunk_, as if he'd dropped one of his many tools.

Giles sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing he'd stayed in England.

"Dawn. Please." Buffy fixed her little sister with a serious, pleading gaze. Dawn glared at her for a minute, then sighed and gave in.

"Alright, but after you're done, me and Xander get to go out _alone,_ and maybe see a movie or something."

"Okay, it's a deal," Buffy agreed, suddenly suspicious that Dawnie was crushing on Xander again.

Dawn hid the coy smile that played on her lips by turning and walking towards the kitchen to bargain with Xander.

"It's remarkable," Giles said as soon as Dawn was out of earshot.

"What is," Buffy wanted to know.

"She's grown quite a bit in these last couple years," Giles supplied. "It's amazing that she could do something after learning that she was created so shortly before Glory appeared."

"Yeah. She was really ornery and obnoxious back then. I don't blame her, I mean, she was just a kid. But to learn something like that and still manage to be a kid is amazing. I know it had some huge psychological impact on her, but she's gotten past it."

"She's grown up, Buffy. She's seventeen years old. I can't believe she's the same person."

"Well, she's not, if you think about it. She's become a woman. I think that little annoying Dawnie will always be in there, because she's still my little sister, but I'm glad she is who she is. I'm glad I have her," Buffy smiled.

"I'm glad you have her, too."

"She's a little like Xander," Buffy said suddenly. She floundered for words, then continued. "In the way, that she's never really been in the…_spotlight_, so to speak. Not that I'd want her to be, but you know. It's always been you, me, and Willow that could do things – Willow with her spells, you with your knowledge, and me with my Slayer strength. But Dawn and Xander, they've just been _them._ They've helped us so much, and they've never complained about not being a witch, or not being able to beat up demons twice their size. They've always gone headfirst into battle with us."

"It's quite admirable of them, yes. I don't think they could be thanked enough for what they've done. They could quite easily just put themselves into normal society and forget all of us, but they've chosen to stay."

"I love them," Buffy whispered, wiping a single tear from her cheek. "I really do."

"They're your family," Giles said, and it was clear, even if he didn't say it, that he loved them too.

Dawn walked briskly back into the room, eyeing the Slayer and her Watcher oddly before grabbing her bag from the couch.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, not sure if she should comfort Buffy, who looked extremely emotional.

"No, no," Buffy said, shaking her head. "I just love you."

Dawn stared at her awkwardly for a moment, glancing back and forth between her sister and Giles. "I, um, I love you too?"

Buffy laughed. "Are you going out now?"

"Yeah, if that's okay…I figured the sooner the better." Dawn rolled her eyes as Andrew traipsed into the room, with Xander in tow.

"All set!" Andrew clapped his hands excitedly. "We're going to buy cake mix. I'm making a cake for when you defeat the evil guy!"

"Cheers," Giles said sarcastically. "Off with you, now."

The trio exited the house, and all was quiet. Then, there was a bang from upstairs. Buffy jumped, trying to place the sound, and raced up the stairs, leaving Giles alone.

Buffy burst into Willow's room – because Willow was the only other person in the house besides her and Giles except for Kennedy, and they were most likely together anyways – and turned twelve shades of scarlet.

"I, uh, I, um, I thought, there was a bang, I heard, I thought, I thought there was danger, uh, um, well…_bye_." She clicked the door shut loudly, embarrassed.

Kennedy and Willow looked up from their incredibly naked positions on the bed, not sure whether to stop or keep going as if Buffy hadn't just intruded.

"Uh," Kennedy said.


	3. Up In the Air

**Author's Note:** Heyy! :D Sorry if it takes me a while to update this, because I'm also working on other fics. You should definitely read those as well, ehehe, their names are: I'll Make This Whole World Shine For You (Zutara), Partners in Prague (Clintasha), Vexed (Marvel Crossover), and a new one whose name I am keeping secret...ANYWAYSS, reviews are peaches and cream! Enjoy the chapter :3

* * *

Chapter Three

Spike paced along the sidewalk in Ethan's body, with Ethan grumbling to him, trying to make him stop and go back to the hotel. If seen by a normal person, it would have looked like Ethan was arguing with himself.

Spike had no clue where he was leading himself and Ethan, looking at street signs and trying to find where Buffy and her friends were boarding.

"Where's Booker Street?" he asked casually, scratching an itch on Ethan's head.

"Why, so you can turn me in to your little girlfriend?" Ethan's voice came out of the one Spike had used.

Spike laughed. "Yeah, actually."

"Well, no sodding deal," Ethan spat, disgust dripping from his words.

"It's either you prolong your life a little, or I get to do things fast and easy." To prove his point, Spike jumped onto the street, just as a red Chevy came tearing down the pavement.

"HOLY BLOODY JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH! SODDING MOTHER—"

And Spike hopped back onto the curb, controlling Ethan's tired body like it was his former vampire body. "So yeah, I could just let that happen." He nonchalantly cracked Ethan's knuckles, humming a tune that his mother sang to him in his infanthood.

To Ethan, Spike's humming sounded dreadfully terrifying, and he gave in. "I don't know, but there are city maps in that drugstore; I saw them yesterday." Spike looked around, eyes finding a low-looking building with a sign that read _Billy's _in bright red letters. The _y _in _Billy's _was flickering on and off, and the air smelled of gasoline.

"Looks promising," Spike muttered, and headed for the store. He was whistling now, wishing he could shift into game face. Whistling was much cooler with fangs.

Once inside _Billy's _(which was lit in a rather unflattering manner), Spike wandered around the few aisles. Finding the maps at the clerk's counter, he shuffled through several of them that looked fairly beat-up, before he found the one he was looking for.

He placed the map on the counter and cast a longing glance over the rows and rows of cigarettes that were on the wall behind the clerk. Ethan, damnably aware, started to protest, but Spike overpowered his mouth and asked the clerk for a pack. He dug in Ethan's pocket for a wallet, and thankfully he found one. It was incredibly fat for someone who didn't work like Ethan, he mused as he paid for his things. He didn't know how he knew that, and he brushed it off.

Eventually, he navigated himself to Booker street, quickly recognizing Buffy's house. He walked up onto the doorstep, finding the door (oddly) unlocked. Spike relished in the fact that he didn't have to be invited as he stepped over the threshold. Ethan was strangely quiet, and Spike soon forgot about him.

Smiling, Spike climbed the familiar stairs that he'd seen when watching over Buffy, stopping whenever he heard someone in the house moving about. He strode through the upper hallway to Buffy and Dawn's room, slipping inside it soundlessly.

Clicking the door shut quietly, Spike moved further into the room. He smelled Buffy, and a little bit of Dawn. Buffy's scent was all over; adrenaline, bath soap, perspiration, and the womanly aroma that made Buffy, _Buffy._ He grinned, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. It was such a blessing – he never thought he'd apply that word to his life after he was changed, but alas – to be in her space, where she let her guard down to rest her weary body after a good day's and night's fight.

Spike loved her. He loved her more than he'd ever loved anything. Cecily, Dru, even his mother. He loved Buffy more than the night, more than the darkness that cloaked him so easily. He loved her more than having blood flow into his mouth and down his throat, tickling his vampire senses and making him shudder with bloodlust. She wasn't just a coppery liquid, wasn't just a velvet midnight veil that he could hide behind.

Buffy was good; pure, no matter if she thought differently or not. Spike knew the truth, and he knew _her _in a way that no one else did, not even Angel or that other military idiot. He understood her. He understood her frightened thoughts about her life, that maybe she wouldn't live another day, she wouldn't protect her friends. She thought herself a monster, a demon in herself; she thought she was terrible.

Spike knew better, because he'd been there too. Buffy continuously fought the darkness that invaded her life, while he'd given himself over to it. She was sunlight, she was. Her light shone through the holes in Spike's dark façade, bringing attention to things he tried so hard to hide away. Buffy made him face himself, even though she sometimes couldn't face herself.

That's why she was beautiful. Buffy was radiant, and it appeared to Spike that everyone knew it _but _Buffy.

Spike shuffled to Buffy's bed, his nose ignoring Dawn's barely-there scent and going straight for Buffy's strong one. It was clear who spent more time in this bed.

He fell into the sheets, noiseless, and allowed himself to moan in pleasure. _God, _Buffy was all over here. He twisted, tangling himself among the fabrics, but he didn't care because this was bliss. Spike imagined himself holding Buffy, comforting her in the way that only he could.

He lost himself then, falling deeper and deeper into his imagination.

* * *

"Okay, wanna call it a night?" Buffy said, staking the last vampire in the heart. She and Faith were barely sweating, and the only evidence that they'd been in a fight was the scratch mark on Buffy's now-bare shoulder (she'd shed her favorite jacket before fighting, just in case) and the light bruising forming on Faith's cheek. Both girls had slightly ruffled hair, and if they hadn't been on a mission, they would've joked about it being 'sex hair'.

Well. They joked about it being 'sex hair' anyways. Buffy re-donned her jacket and she and Faith exited the cemetery grounds, hopping over the six-foot-tall gate like it was nothing. Faith stretched, groaning, and asked Buffy if she wanted to stop for a beer; Buffy shook her head, but said, "You go on. Don't let me stop you from having fun."

She knew that Faith would head straight for the clubs. Watching her brunette friend – she paused for a moment as she realized that she actually thought of Faith as a _friend –_ bounce down the street, Buffy smiled and turned in the direction of the place she now called home.

It was a short walk, or it seemed that way, at least. Only one thought occupied Buffy's mind, and it was that of Spike. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she shivered despite the warm night air; Buffy sighed heavily, but nothing could banish the knots and aches in her chest.

_No you don't, but thanks for saying it._

Willow, Xander and Kennedy had taken Dawn and Andrew out to the latest sci-fi movie, like a family movie night; Giles was probably somewhere in an old, stuffy bookshop, trying desperately to find copies of the books he'd left in Sunnydale.

She feared returning to the empty house, but Buffy braved the feeling as she climbed the front steps. Pausing on the porch, she fumbled for her key, but couldn't find it.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she quipped, stepping back a couple paces and staring at the door, as if fixing it with a Slayer glare would send it falling down. Muttering about how she hoped she didn't have to wait for someone else to return, she tried the doorknob, just in case.

She was surprised when the door fell open; who had left it that way? She was going to have a serious talk with everyone about demons that _didn't _need an invitation.

Stalking up the stairs, she shed her jacket once more and left it draped over the railing. Stretching, she yawned, suddenly aware of just how tired she was. Even though she knew she wouldn't sleep, she decided to go lie down.

Hopping on either foot as she removed her tennis shoes, Buffy made her way down the dark hall; stopping by Willow and Kennedy's room just before her own, she listened to make sure that she was definitely alone.

Not that she wanted to be. It actually was quite scary, and she understood how a lot of the previous Slayers had fallen so quickly: if Buffy hadn't had her friends to fall back on, through and through, she definitely would've been dead by now – or at least, she would've _stayed_ that way.

Imagining life without Xander or Willow, she saw worlds where she had died; once when she was sixteen, once when she was twenty…both before…

_Spike_.

She felt him. He was near. The feeling wracked through her bones and she shuddered against it, leaning against the wall under the strain of the feeling. Buffy's eyes flew to her bedroom door – no – could it be?

Grabbing the door handle and twisting it so hard that it fell out of its socket and crushed in her hand, Buffy burst through the entrance to the room and saw it: the figure of a man on her bed.

_What type of demon was toying with her now?_ She thought back to the unlocked front door. She'd only been _joking_ when she'd thought about demons that didn't require invitations. Leaning over the apparently-sleeping form, Buffy slid her stake from her pocket.

Then, she realized just _who_ was lying in her bed, and that it was _not at all_ Spike.

Ethan Rayne.

That explained the feeling. Rayne could conjure any amount of mischief. Causing an aura of the gripping familiarity of the Slayer's lost lover was just up his alley.

Before she formed a plan, Buffy lashed out. Her leg came up, knocking squarely into the middle of the sorcerer's back and causing him to tumble out of the tangled sheets, onto the floor. Rounding the bed, Buffy snarled.

"This is a _whole_ new level of creepy," she proclaimed as she stepped over the now-awake man. Raising her stake – maybe she could just stab him and it'd all be over – she prepared to _end_ Ethan Rayne.

But something surprised her – something strange. He raised his hands in defense and she waited for the magic barrier to throw her back, but nothing happened.

"Pet," rasped the older man's voice, and his accent was changed to that of Spike's. "It's me, pet. It's Spike."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Puh-_lease._ You're going have to try harder than _that."_

But the man persisted, and this time, he said something that made Buffy stop and think.

* * *

Rupert Giles walked down the sidewalk, musing about his peculiar home situation. How odd was it that he was boarding with his Slayer and her friends. Two of his housemates, technically, were not her friends.

Laughing it off, he approached his supposed household and was surprised to find the door partially open. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a familiarly annoying voice said, _A good Slayer is a cautious Slayer._

Gently pushing the door all the way open, Giles stepped inside carefully. The house was dark and silent; he was aware of most of the occupants leaving to go to the cinema, but Buffy and Faith should've been home by now.

Could Faith have…? No. He didn't allow himself to suspect the other Slayer of turning against Buffy once more.

"Buffy?" he called softly, but there came no reply. He turned down the hallway and walked in the direction of the living room; maybe the girls had decided to sit down and have a chat whilst watching the television.

But when Giles arrived at the living room, he was met with a completely unexpected sight.

What he saw was Buffy, who was sitting in a rocking chair, arms folded between her legs, with her eyes trained on the floor. Glancing abruptly up at her Watcher, she whispered, "Giles." Her voice was shaky and her skin was pale, but that wasn't the sight that caught him off guard.

He'd only seen Buffy look this way once before, and, as he slowly raised his eyes to the figure seated across from the blonde, on the couch, he prayed that not another of Buffy's circle of loved ones had died.

Instead, what he saw was the slumped form of a man. In the half-light, he could make out the ropes that bound the man's arms and legs; the man's head was leaning forward and it was obvious that he was unconscious.

"I didn't know what to do," Buffy whispered, and although her voice was quiet and low, it cracked on the last few syllables. Her hands moved shakily to cup her forehead, and Giles reached for the light switch.

The room was at once bathed in bright yellow, and Giles' responding gasp seemed to take the entirety of his breath away. His eyes, his mind, his mood, his voice all darkened as his voice dropped low and deadly. Two words, he spoke…

"Ethan Rayne."

Giles strode forward, putting a bracing hand on Buffy's shoulder. Why did she look so childlike? _Had Ethan taken Dawn?_ No…she wasn't in a catatonic state.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely registered her hardly-audible whisper of a reply. "No," she said under her breath, and she raised her head to stare at him with wide, glassy eyes. "Not Ethan Rayne."

"Buffy, whatever are you talking about?" Giles pointed to the man. "Don't you remember who that is? Has he wiped your memory?" His voice was strained but sincere.

"Not Ethan Rayne," the Slayer choked out a second time. "It's…it's _Spike."_

From the look of her and the eerie calm that took over his own body, Giles knew that what Buffy was saying was true. His feet carried him to the armchair next to the television and he sat down hard; a bewildered expression shadowing his face.

"What the bloody _hell_ is going on?" he breathed.


End file.
